


Twice as Handsome

by DualDreamer



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, I mean sort of....?, Identity Issues, It takes a while to get there, M/M, Manipulative Relationship, Memory Loss, Slow Burn, Timothy makes bad decisions, dark timothy lawrence, out of character handsome jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:58:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualDreamer/pseuds/DualDreamer
Summary: "Heroes never go down, huh? That's what you said, Jack. Now look at you. You reckless moron. Look how you ended up. Well, not like you ever were a hero...But how dare you leaving me alone with this shit show? This is not what I signed up for!"Except that he did. Being Jack was exactly what Timothy was hired for.





	1. Game Over. New Start.

Timothy's whole body was numb. It felt like the air around him was suddenly squeezing from all sides, as if the entire world wanted to force him to hold still. Just to focus on this moment and one man. His inside wasn't free of it either. A white noise filled his brain as he stared through a window at the pitiful human being before him. The man was laying in a hospital bed, sound asleep for the first time in a while, curled up under the cheap white sheets.

_A bizarre picture of peace and misery._

All this time he had hoped for the best. After what had happened in the Vault, he dragged his wounded employer out with his own hands. Jack fell unconscious when the pain became too much. He brought him here. Despite its rundown exterior, the hospital housed the best medics available in these parts of the galaxy. Its secluded location was a bonus, in more than one way. A few barely concealed threats, and they were all sworn to silence and promised to give it their all. The doppelganger was pretending to be Jack, which helped a lot with that. He didn't bother with giving them the name of their patient though and they knew not to ask.

Meanwhile, Timothy went to work for Jack and continued the construction of Helios. Had to exceed his personal limits, faked anything he could and when his skill set failed completely he pushed the task to others. By now they had finally more human employees on the space station who were stumbling over each other to do their brand new hero a favour.

All that to prepare for Jack to take over, eventually, after he recovered. Then Timothy would step back into his shadow. Life would return to a lesser version of crazy. He almost craved for the days where he just had to jump where Jack pointed him. It was easier to follow lead than to fight for your own sake, to question someone else rather than having to bear the guilt yourself.

But that was the problem.

Yes, Jack had gotten better...physically.

The doctors saved what they could of his face and it had healed decently, considering the scale of the injury. They had tried to do facial surgery. But the Eridian relic had done a more vicious damage than expected. Every time they replaced skin and flesh, the symbol reappeared. It was like an infection they couldn't get rid off and ate away the healthy parts, branding it anew every time. Eventually Jack stopped screaming whenever it happened and just waited until it was over. His body got tense while he endured the pain but not a single noise left his mouth. Once his hair started to grey though Timothy had enough and ordered them to give it up. No use making the whole thing worse than it already was. The wound was left to heal and would inevitably scar in the future. Through the constantly repeated process it had gotten an ugly blue colour. Jack's good looks were definitely ruined but at least he was alive. Not anyone would have survived that.

Alive.

Alive, but not well.

Today they confirmed the diagnosis he had feared. A truth he had tried to push away for the longest time. It was way more comfortable to bend the facts, to oversee the signs. All could be explained away with the numerous medical procedures Jack went through.

The fumbling. The disorientation. The lost and empty gaze.

Any attempt to start a conversation ended in being ignored, his attention span was short. Sometimes Jack whispered incoherent things about Vaults and the secrets of the universe. He didn't even respond to anything if you didn't call his name priorly.

His name was what let Timothy cling to his illusion. But by now he suspected that he might have just rolled with what he was called when he woke up.

However, the time for ignorance and denial was over.

Jack had lost his memory. Amnesia.

A complete wipe of everything he had stored in his head. The Vault symbol had done a thorough job. It had left nothing behind but its mark.

* * *

 “Sir? How do you want us to proceed?”

Timothy blinked as he was torn from the thoughts that drowned him. The doctor who brought the bad news awaited his answer. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair, mind racing faster than a moonshot.

“I'll take him with me”, he decided. The other didn't seem to have expected that. Timothy noted that he looked awfully tense. Tiny drops of sweat formed as the medic talked. “By all respect, I strongly advise we keep the patient here. That would-...”

“Did I stutter”, Tim snapped. “He comes with me. You said his body is fine, right?”

The man hesitated to agree.

“Well, as long as he takes his medication, and if you are sure that you don't want us to do further facial surgery...” A quickly darkening expression urged him to compliance. “...then he should be able to be released.”

“Good”, Lawrence shot back. He didn't like to leave Jack here longer than necessary. From what the staff told him, his former employer was doing awful whenever Timothy was gone. Which was most of the time since he had to stand in for him. The man didn't talk to anyone and didn't let them touch him. If they wanted to examine him or give him necessary treatment they either had to sedate him or hold him down by two other people. Unless they wanted to risk an elbow to the gut or some very mean looking scratches. He had seen the results of Jack's fury. Weirdly enough, he was more cooperative when his double was present. The man was visibly upset, flinched when skin contact was made and if looks could kill... But he didn't lash out once. The medics theorized that even though his own face was mostly ruined, he still recognized Timothy's as familiar. Odd, but for once Jack's apparently deeply rooted narcissism seemed to be useful. The downside of this was that Timothy had to check in daily to make things go smoothly. It was exhausting.

That was why he didn't understand the doctor's reluctance to let go of their troublesome patient...

 

“You know, doc”, he said with narrowed eyes, “I thought you would be more relieved that I finally take him off your hands.”

The sweaty man twitched. “Well, he is...he is an interesting case, isn't he?”, he stuttered. “A rare condition, and the way he talks...”

This was about the Vault. It must be. He must have overheard something. It was always about Vaults, wasn't it?

In a sad attempt to change his mind he kept talking, oblivious that each word was grating on Timothy's nerves, confirming his suspicions.

“...Under the circumstances, and in his state of mind, I have to insist that he should stay here, under professional supervision. We could-”

He didn't get to finish his sentence because Lawrence lost his patience. A simple pull of his gun, a shot in the head and the blabbering stopped. _Easy._

Tim paused. It had been an instinctive action, a no-brainer. The hand which had formerly wielded his weapon with so much confidence began to tremble. He failed to steady it as he looked down on the lifeless body sprawled out before him on the floor.

So simple. It shouldn't be that way. The simplicity of it scared him. As if it was just the usual, a natural reaction. A reflex. The fact that it _didn't_ feel wrong when it _should_ made his head spin.

Timothy took a deep breath.

He didn't go crazy, he reasoned. He was stressed. So much had been changing over the course of the last weeks. Permanently living as Jack took its toll on him. He was always under pressure to perform, had to cater to his injured boss in one moment, then fix a problem at Hyperion the other.

He knew he was just searching for excuses, but his conviction of his own sanity was all that kept him grounded these days. If he couldn't even put trust into himself, he would break.

And there were legitimate reasons to kill that guy. The less people knew about Jack's visions, the better. Couldn't have them coming after him in hopes to find a Vault.  _Wow, that almost sounded like a rational thought!_

Stubbornly he ignored the sarcastic voice in his head. He had his arm back under control and that was what counted. Timothy holstered his gun with a bit more force than necessary.

...Besides, it shouldn't hurt to stay in character. In "his" position he couldn't afford to beg or waste time. Threats were lurking from all sides. Hyperion was still in chaos after Dahl's attack, that rat Tassiter was constantly getting on his nerves and Jack...

His employer was in no condition to fend for himself, and even less to take Timothy back under his wings. Ironically, these days Jack would have had the best chances to fulfill his ambitious dreams if he were able to. A lot of people had heard what happened on Helios and Elpis. It brought him some fame, even more than his team of Vault Hunters as Tim noticed with slight irritation. But none of that mattered. Jack couldn't reap the fruits of his deeds and Timothy couldn't claim anything either as officially he didn't even exist. He did everything in _Jack's_ name, all the glory was solely invested into _Jack's_ image. And now he was on his own, with no one to pay him for his services. He had nowhere else to go. This was all he had.

 

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. A futile attempt to sooth his growing headache, it had become a recurring companion lately.

“So I guess...”, Tim murmured as he stepped over the dead body in order to reach Jack's room, “I have to be handsome enough for both of us.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, Timothy, what happened to you? First chapter and we already have a murder on hand.
> 
> Does anybody feel bad for Jack? Just wondering. Oh, and he appears in the next chapter in person, don't worry.
> 
> If you have any critique on my writing, please, tell me, leave a comment. I would greatly appreciate it! It helps me to improve myself and therefore the story you're reading. :D


	2. Knock, Knock, Who's There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to meet Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the story is getting a lot longer than expected, quelle surprise. Originally I wanted to wrap it up in three or four chapters, skipping over huge chunks of time and only show some major plot points. Buuuuuut.... I kept getting ideas and we're taking the scenic route instead, nice and slow.  
> (Also means I have to plan more carefully, everything takes longer to write and the update schedule is regularly irregular.)

Sleeping sucked, Jack decided.

Being awake was admittedly worse though. Everything seemed to dedicate itself to the sole purpose of being a huge bother. The light was too bright, the people too loud and hell-bent on invading his comfort zone. Also, he was always in pain.

Ever since it had been pressed into his face, the curved mark had been a constant presence in his life, in one way or another.

Weeks had passed before these idiots understood that the thing wouldn't give up the spot it defended so brutally and without mercy. The pain was at its worst whenever it happened. He felt like being set back to the beginning of his short conscious life. Ironic. Though the experience was beyond unbearable, he never felt closer to being whole than in these moments.

When the searing heat was at its peak and erased his last coherent thought, he didn't feel so bad about the gaping hole in his mind. The fire under his skin overshadowed all his worries, his doubts, his fear. A burning world where everything was the same and the pain brought him peace. And it let him believe that if he stretched a bit he could almost... almost reach something that wasn't _nothing_. That it just waited for him to be unveiled and when the suffering ended, the fog in his brain would fade away with it like a bad side effect.

It never happened of course. His head was still empty. Every time. It made him feel small even though everything in him screamed to be big. Important.

Nowadays he didn't even have that. The message had gone through that their efforts were futile and the white coats had to find a new thing they could be disappointed in. And like the prodding nuisances they were, they found it.

The questions started. Hours of useless interrogation. The plus side: There was only one douchebag to deal with at this point, some greasy old doc whose name he never bothered to learn. Which was better but not less annoying. It wasn't even a fair trade, the pain was still there. A far cry from what was before, but it kept his mood on a constant low. No amount of pills and injections the doctors loved to force on him changed that. Being awake was awful.

That's why he had thought at least sleeping would be nice. From time to time he dozed off, and thought to get short glimpses of a world free of physical restraints. But now that he finally tricked his body into entering the sleep phase he wasn't so sure about that anymore...

A loud bang abruptly ripped him from the dream he definitely wouldn't mourn to be missing.

His eyes opened with a start. For a moment he just stared at the opposing wall as he found his way back into reality. Jack shook his head, trying to get rid of the lingering pictures, while he lifted himself up. His back ached from the curled up position he slept in. But he was still pissed off by the rude awakening. He hadn't had as much as a decent nap in this hell hole so far.

Trying to find the culprit, his gaze was eventually drawn to the window with view on the hallway. He hated that stupid thing. Another cut into his non-existing privacy, putting him on constant display. The worst part weren't the nosy medics who stared at him as if he was some kind of curiosity. ( _Creeps._ ) That was in fact a rare occurrence. But it was the chance that they _could_ be there at any moment. The paranoia was eating on him. Not even when he was alone he was able to relax.

But now he was greeted by a different sight. A familiar figure was standing right in front of the glass. The one guy who always hung around him without getting on his nerves too much. The _other_ Jack. He looked like what _he_ should look like, or so he was told. And his “twin” seemed without a doubt attractive and similar enough.

Well, not as much as usual though. The kid had looked better. Currently he was hunched over and trembling. His normally so carefully styled hair was disheveled and a bit out of shape where he must have run his fingers through the strands. More alike to the messy mob on his own head, Jack noticed with satisfaction. But the most prominent flaw in his appearance were the splatters of blood. They were all over his front, some on his face even smeared. It was messy, and it was gross.

Jack thought it suited him.

* * *

Timothy hadn't even made it into the room before he managed to mess up again.

He had just taken a single step when his gaze shifted back to Jack's room and he froze.

Jack was awake. Of course he is, he berated himself. He must have heard the gunshot.

For the first time since the incident, Timothy had his full, undivided attention. There was something in his eyes, something intense that gave him the impression of being under inspection. He couldn't read him at all and it was making him uncomfortable. Suddenly Tim became acutely aware that he must look pathetic, an anxious wreck barely holding it together. And there was probably blood on his clothes. Not that he dared to check.

In the next, most awkward minute of his life they just stared at each other before he couldn't bear it any longer. Cautiously, he raised a hand and smiled. Jack's eyes flickered to the moving appendage before he focused on him again. With an incredibly judgmental frown. Lawrence felt it was kinda unfair that this guy looked at him like he was the biggest moron he had ever seen in his life. He couldn't even remember any of it! Granted, following that logic, the double claimed the offending title by default. Still, it stung. After all the trouble to become a full-fledged “badass”, after surviving the moon and opening a damn Vault, he slipped up and acted like a bumbling idiot in front of Jack at first chance. Slowly he lowered his hand.

What a great way to start.

This wouldn't do, not when he had decided to take his fate into his own hands just moments ago. With practiced ease he squared his shoulders as he slid back into his persona. Getting rid of his slumped stance, raising the chin high. A lazy grin stretched his lips. Subtle changes, but they gave him a boost of confidence he used to bore his gaze into Jack's observing eyes. Unfortunately, Jack seemed impressively unimpressed. Timothy could watch him losing interest by the second, looking him up and down, until he decided to break eye contact.

_Weird._

He waited a bit, but Jack didn't make any motions to acknowledge him again. Tim sighed. That wasn't a new move, so why did he get his hopes up? He shrugged it off and finally closed the remaining distance to the door with a few strides. However, right before he was about to open it, he hesitated. An idea floated in his head, one that made him snort. It was a tad ridiculous, perhaps unnecessary. Definitely immature. So, naturally, he had to do it.

Smirking, he knocked the door.

Then he waited.

No reaction, not even a rustle was heard from inside. But he hadn't expected one either. Not yet.

He knocked again.

Still nothing.

He repeated this a few times, patiently playing the waiting game.

When he started knocking non-stop though, there was some noise. His smile simply grew wider and the knocking harder and then the door was finally ripped open in one powerful motion. Hand still hanging mid-air, Timothy took in the sight before him with satisfaction.

The look on Jack's face was priceless, a wild mix of swirling emotions Tim had never seen before. Some of them he couldn't even decipher, but he could swear that the corners of his lips threatened to curl up into a smile a few times. Mostly though, he looked absolutely livid.

“Sup.”

“What the hell is your frickin' problem?”, Jack spat. “Can't open the door, moron?”

Timothy's eyes widened in mock innocence, dramatically setting his hand on his chest. “Jeez, just trying to be polite, kiddo.”

“Yeaaaaah... right.” Jack seemed to settle on one emotion for now and eyed him warily. “Not like anyone ever gave a damn before.”

Now that he thought about it, there was probably some truth in that. He couldn't remember seeing anyone else practicing this courtesy, and whenever he had been roaming the halls, well... all doors had been opened wide for him. Before Tim could follow this train of thought any further, Jack spoke up again.

“What do you want?”

This caught him a bit off guard. It wasn't unlike Jack to make demands, but mostly to be left alone, sometimes the exact opposite. The double has gotten used to direct a conversation by himself. He had to pry anything else out of him with patience and effort.

“We're leaving”, he said. Seeing the confusion on his face he explained himself. “Back to Helios, y'know, the... nice floaty space station? Uh... well, you'll see. Anyway. Congratulations, I'm getting you out of here.” Jack blinked, apparently having a hard time to process that. “That's the part where you thank me. But, no, don't be too enthusiastic.”

Only now it dawned on him that he had no idea what he was doing. What was his plan, exactly? Taking Jack home, hoping he gets his memories back one day, like a miracle? Before someone caught on to his little fraud? No, no, no, he had to think this through. If Jack didn't make any progress by himself... he would just have to help out manually. Even if he had to hammer it into his brain by himself. Maybe his own “Jackification” training might finally pay off.

“Alright, look, I can see that we're getting nowhere with this. You don't remember anything.”

Jack made a face and pointedly avoided his gaze. Timothy decided to switch tactics and use a gentler tone.

“And that's fine. You... you don't have to.” The speed in which his eyes shot back up was honestly a bit worrying. “We'll get you back on track soon enough. Promise.”

He was staring again. And Timothy knew that this was different, this wasn't his boss sizing him up, but fuck if it didn't feel like it. It was the same ambiguous stare Jack used to give him from time to time, often after missions, to decide if the double was living up to his standards. He never got used to it. Right now he was one step away from squirming. And when Jack gave him a short nod to show his approval, his muscles had the audacity to relax, as if he passed some kind of test. Tim clenched his jaw. He didn’t like the way his body betrayed him.

But since the matter of their departure was settled he needed to stop overthinking. Or else he would lose face. It made him desperate to do something, to recover from this encounter as fast as possible. So he pulled out his ECHO device. Occupying his mind with a task would be the best.

“Sweet. Get yourself ready, well...”, his eyes swept over the sparse room, and Jack’s comfortable hospital wear, a shirt and pants combo, both from the same soft cotton material. It wasn’t exactly travel wear in the usual sense, but good enough for fast travelling. Not like there was anyone who could see and judge them for fashion. “...you don’t have anything to pack. I'll just, uh… go ahead and lead the way. I need to make a quick call. Stay behind me, ‘kay?”

And with that he rushed out of the room, not even waiting for the reply. In his haste he nearly forgot about the corpse outside. Remembering just in time, he hopped over it with a jump that hopefully looked graceful and not embarrassing. He could hear Jack follow him at a distance. Good.

With swift fingers he scrolled through his ECHO until he found the number he searched for. Then he connected the call. Surprisingly, the recipient picked up quicker than expected.

“Hey, Nish, it's me.”

* * *

Jack studied the man's face from afar. There had been a glimpse of hesitation in his features, a short second in which he seemed reluctant to make that call. It vanished as quickly as it came, he didn't even have time to blink before the other Jack's face became as smooth and unreadable as before. He watched as the other spoke, no, drawled into the speaker. A tone he'd never heard from him, not even when he was hitting on the nurses. Deep, heavy and layered thick in velvet, which simultaneously made his skin crawl with disgust and prickle with something entirely else. It was ridiculous and Jack briefly wondered if that was supposed to be his 'ladies voice'.

“...no, the REAL me this time. The one and only, babe.” He couldn't make out what the other person was saying, but he did identify a female. Something she said made him chuckle. “Oh- nu, nu, no, I would love to do just _that_ , but y'see. Daddy's kinda too busy to play. And I need you right where you are. Or- even better- Do me a favour...”

His voice then lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, to Jack’s frustration. And - did he get faster? The pace with which he marched through the hallways seemed to increase. Jack had trouble to follow, legs unused to be needed from being trapped in a small room for so long. Despite his best efforts to strain his ears, he could only catch some snippets, but the conversation involved some kind of job the Other-Jack wanted to be done. He could barely hear anything over the noise of his own heavy breathing. Said rude double threw a glance behind, occasionally, to check if Jack was still keeping up with him. The icy glare he received in turn didn't seem to bother him. Jack purposely walked slower once to see what would happen, but the man didn't break his stride. _So he does have some balls stashed away somewhere after all. Who would have thought._ When he almost lost him after they passed a corner though Jack begrudgingly adjusted to his speed.

At last they came to a stop and Handsome hung up, consequently pocketing his ECHO unit. They had also reached the exit, the timing unnaturally perfect. The other Jack turned around and gave him a crooked smile. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement.

Time to go home... where-ever that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so the awkward journey of writing dialogues begins. I hope I'll grow into it, I'm struggling, specifically with the patented Handsome Jack way of talking, whenever one of the two uses it, but also...just how do regular people talk??? Idk???? Help.  
> Btw, confession time, I almost robbed you of the part written in Jack's POV/basically the whole chapter. But I thought it couldn't hurt to give some insight into his head, a “taste” of the new Jack. This chapter is a bit like one big filler (I got almost nothing done plot-wise), but still important enough to keep it in. It would be wrong to gloss over what is essentially their first meeting.


	3. And They Were Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Timothy try their best to become jerks in their own right.
> 
> (Nah, Jack is just himself. Timothy though...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you didn't expect an update so soon.

Living in Jack's apartment was weird. Living with _Jack_  in Jack's apartment was even weirder.

And yet it was the best and only solution they had. Timothy had practically lived there anyway while Jack was gone. Now he officially moved into the guest room instead of crashing on the couch or falling asleep over the desk. It was a bit too spacious to be called cozy, but classy and practical, the typical Hyperion standard for everything. He got used to it. When he hadn't been busy with running between Helios and the hospital, he had spent his nights there catching up on Jack's work. There was always something he had to do, some task he had to finish, whether it was a file he had to find, organising his projects or simply trying to understand what the hell this man's endgame had been.

Timothy was in the unfortunate position to step into the footsteps of a man who had been running light years ahead of him. He picked up whatever pieces he had left behind and did his best to navigate his way through the field, but in the end Tim had no idea where the journey went.

On top of that he also had to tutor and babysit Jack now.

His memory might have been wiped, but it wasn't like he was a blank sheet. It was as if someone had written down his essence on paper with a pencil and then sloppily erased it afterwards. The words were gone, unreadable, but the stains were still there. Hinting at what had been and leaving you filled with confusion and frustration when you couldn't quite grasp their sense.

Jack would sometimes end his sentences with a pause. Timothy always knew when he had the urge to blurt out a jack-typical remark, whether it was the instinctive wish to place a casual insult or to call him by a demeaning nickname. He could see it on his face, how it was laying on the tip of his tongue, but ultimately failed to connect the last dot. At other times he did though, and he let them flow like a river, practically drowning Tim with the unstoppable force that is Jack's mouth, only halting every now and then to frown about things he didn't even where they came from.

Timothy didn't know what had sparked it, but Jack had become more amiable since that moment they had in the hospital. Was it the gunshot? The act of violence? The awkward talk afterwards which still made him want to bury himself in a hole down on Pandora, to be forgotten forever? Or maybe it was simply the solitude of their apartment that contributed to Jack's mood.

Whatever it was, it caused Jack to open up, at least a little. Without being forced to talk to people besides Timothy he seemed to become more stable every day.

* * *

 “Alright, let's go over it again. That guy is...?”

They were sitting in the living room, before them a big portable holo-screen, and had spent the last few hours with going through various facts, people and trivia from Jack's life, currently some of the more notable figures on Hyperion's payroll. Timothy called up the first picture. Jack looked at it for a second and was able to answer after minor pondering.

“...That uh... What's his name, Jacob, Jeremy? That Blake guy.” Tim suppressed the encouraging smile that threatened to creep on his face - Jack loved to latch on every opportunity to distract them from their task, he learned the hard way that he needed to be a stoic teacher - but nodded in confirmation. “Almost, Jeffrey Blake, senior vice president of-... " He tried to peek at his notes without the other noticing. Sue him, he learned all that shit only a few weeks earlier, okay? "Mercenary Relations and Tourism.”

"Why are you even making me memorize this shit?"

"You had his file marked, I dunno. I'm going to squeeze everything I can into your head. The more you know, the less I have to deal with."

He ignored the eye-roll he got in response and switched to the next picture. Jack snorted. “Easy, that piss-poor excuse of a CEO, Tassiter.” Timothy couldn't prevent his facial muscles from twitching this time. Jack had heard him ranting more than enough by now to recall that name immediately. “Okay, how about this one?”

Jack squinted at the image of the R&D head scientist while he racked his brain for the answer. “Eh...that's uh-... That's this guy... Y'know the one who... help me out here, pumpkin. Please?” Timothy just raised an eyebrow. Jack floundered and gestured vaguely with his hands to underline his non-existent point. “That... Argh, screw it.” He lowered his arms and slumped in his seat. “I dunno, some Jack, maybe?”, he finished lamely.

Timothy groaned and buried his face between his fingers. “You can't just call everyone a  _Jack_  when you don't know who they are,  _we talked about this_.”

The other crossed his arms, pouting. “In my defense, I'm practically a new born. And the guy I live with has the same name as me.” He jabbed a finger in his direction. “How can YOU prove that everyone is  _not_ called Jack, huh?”

“What the- Are... are you serious? That doesn't even make sense.” His reply was muffled by his hands since he didn't have the energy to look up. “It's not even my real name.”

“...It's not?”

Timothy wanted to bash his head against the next wall. Admittedly, it wasn't Jack's fault that he didn't know that. But he had thought that he would have at least some common sense.

“No. I'm your  _body double_. The only reason I call myself that is because to the world, I  _am_  you. I'm contractually bound to do that. You understand?”

Jack seemed genuinely taken aback by that.

“Wow. That... sucks.”

Timothy exhaled a long breath.

“Yeah. It does. A lot.”

From between his fingers he could see how Jack mustered him from the side. He was fidgeting, and it was clear that he was about to ask the obvious question.

“So... What's your real name?”

For a slip second Timothy was tempted.

Jack, the old Jack, had been the last one to call him by his true name. Never in public, of course. But on rare occasions, when no one was around to overhear them and Jack was in a particularly good mood, he graced him with an “accidental” slip of tongue. And Timothy would soak it up like the desperate man he was, hating himself for it, but hating Jack even more.

It had been used as a reward as much as a punishment. When he messed up especially bad then Timothy's name would turn into a weapon, made to cut deep, to insult him with hurtful precision.

He clenched his teeth. No. He would never give Jack that much power over him again. Not even this watered-down version of him. He missed his name, truly, but this was personal, something he wanted to keep for himself. Not to mention that in the case Jack should regain his past self one day, there was the very plausible possibility that he might skin him alive for breaching the contract. He was still legally forbidden from saying his name out loud and the fact that the one to hear it was his employer himself wasn't exactly a fail-safe excuse.

Tim straightened up and finally delivered his answer.

“None of your business.”

“What?! Why?”, Jack whined, all restraints falling apart. It was amazing to see how quickly he could switch into manchild mode. “Come on, just tell me.”

“No.” It was Tim's turn to cross his arms. Before the other man could protest, he cut him off. “If you want it so badly, you'll have to earn that”, he declared with a stern voice. Which actually meant he would  _never_ hear it. He doubted there was anything Jack could do to change his mind.

Jack scoffed at his request. “Fine. Have it your way, princess.”

And so the wild witch hunt for his name begun.

* * *

It took exactly seven minutes before Jack started to subtly drop random names into their conversation to provoke a reaction out of him. It was mildly endearing.

Thirty-two minutes later, however, Timothy retreated into the bathroom, locked the door and put on headphones to block out the sound of Jack who found great amusement in shouting increasingly obnoxious suggestions of names at him, each more unlikely than the other. He hoped that he would wear himself out soon, Jack didn't have the stamina anymore to keep this up forever. His social battery drained pretty quick nowadays.

In the meantime he busied himself with his ECHO. There were a bunch of new messages as usual, after all he had adopted Jack's old device for known reasons. He skimmed through the mass of reports, requests and other work-related texts. The damage Dahl had inflicted on the space station had been a heavy set-back but Helios was in a stage of its construction where it was basically only a question of good organisation to finish it. Yet people still seemed to need his guidance for every minor issue. He had no idea how Jack had dealt with the amount of idiocy among the workers,  _especially_  the cursed CL4P-TP units. Maybe that's where he got his slightly psychopathic tendencies from.

Dutifully, but bored to death, he answered most with a short message that they might get their shit together on their own. Others with more serious problems were assured he would look into it, and the plain spam which remained was discarded in the trash without a second thought.

He was almost done, headphones taken off after he noticed the silence outside and already thinking about getting up to see what Jack was up to, when he suddenly got a notification for another message. Frowning, he stared at the blinking pop-up. Then he compared it to the counter of his inbox. The number was the same as before. He refreshed the page. There were still only the same two unimportant messages in his inbox. And there was  _still_ the bold announcement that he had gotten a new one. In fact, as his ECHO helpfully told him, he was getting  _more_.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he clicked on the notification. It immediately redirected him by opening a different window. Baffled, Timothy looked at an entirely different messenger. The chat room was held simple to a radical degree, all black, with few details, the font a stark contrast in white. Feeling disturbingly sure that he just tripped over something the old Jack would have had no hesitations to kill him for seeing it, Tim rested his eyes on the thing that brought him here in the first place.

Three new messages from 4N631.

>>>[4N631:] You haven't contacted me since you entered the Vault.

>>>[4N631:] But you are working as usual.

>>>[4N631:] Is something wrong?

He stared at the words he couldn't make any sense of and had way too many questions. Who was this? Why did Jack have a secret messenger for them? And... they were  _watching_  him?

A chill was running down his spine.

There were older messages. The date kindly informed him they were from the day Jack got his brains punched out in the Vault on Elpis.

>>>[4N631:] Jack, where are you? Did you get out of the Vault? I can't see you.

>>>[4N631:] Are you safe?

>>>[4N631:] Please contact me.

Someone had been worried about Jack, or so it seemed. He didn't really understand what they meant with “seeing him”. Had they been present at the Vault? Another Vault Hunter Jack hadn't told him about? The lines that followed above continued to perplex him.

>>>[4N631:] I saw the Vault Hunters going into the Vault. Be careful.

>>>[4N631:] They came out.

A warning about Lilith and her friends. And an observation of the aftermath when they had fled the scene. He wondered if Jack had seen the former. At the time the latter had been sent his old self was already long gone.

Tim scrolled up to read the remaining messages. There were only a few left, apparently the last conversation between Jack and the mysterious unknown person.

>>>[4N631:] Remember that we don't know what to expect from this Vault. If it interferes with our line, we might have trouble with holding up an ECHOnet connection. Communication could be tricky.

>>>[Jack:] Yeah, don't worry, sweetheart, we're prepared for that

>>>[Jack:] Take care of Helios for me, will ya? Can't let anything happen to either of my babies

>>>[Jack:] Gotta go now

>>>[Jack:] I've got a Vault to conquer

>>>[Jack:] ...

>>>[Jack:] This feels SO good to say

>>>[Jack:] See you later

>>>[4N631:] Good luck, Jack.

This was it. He tried to scroll up further, but that was all there was. Maybe it only saved them until a certain date. Maybe he was just too stupid to figure it out. At least that was how he felt.

Stupid.

This reeked of some dirty secret, why else would Jack make such an effort to hide the messenger? Not long after Timothy had taken Jack's ECHO device he had explored every digital nook and cranny of the damn thing. There was a ton of stuff that was password protected, this with absolute certainty one of them; although he couldn't remember if he saw an application like that. Even if he could fathom how it would be named, there were too many untouchable files because Jack either had had some serious trust issues in the past or was a firm believer in the strict protection of company secrets. Whichever was the case, he had apparently still been lazy enough to allow a loop hole in the form of a short cut. A prominent flaw in his seemingly perfect system. It struck Timothy as odd that Jack might have been so sloppy. Had he been so confident that nobody would get their hands on his ECHO?

During his musing he had forgotten that there was still someone who was waiting for a reply.

The ping of yet another message made him almost slip the device from his hands.

>>>[4N631:] I can see that you're online.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuuuuck._

His fingers began to tremble as he tried to think of an answer. What was he supposed to say, “hi, sorry, Jack isn't here, but please, don't let that stop you from telling me his secrets”? They didn't know yet that he wasn't Jack, right? But unlike the corporate zombies he commonly talked to, he didn't know anything about this person or how Jack usually interacted with them.

>>>[4N631:] Are you ignoring me? 

_Why can't they just... stop... writing for ONE second?_

Timothy took a deep breath and forced his shaking hands to type in the following words:

>>>[Jack:] I'm not. I'm busy at the moment, will deal with you later

>>>[Jack:] Can't really spare the time right now

He hoped that was vague enough to buy him some time until he was able to dig up something about this “4N631”. The reply came almost immediately.

>>>[4N631:] ...Are you mad at me?

_...What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

>>>[Jack:] No.

>>>[Jack:] Like I said, busy

>>>[Jack:] Stop asking stupid questions

He felt like an extreme douchebag but he was really at the end of his nerves and this was the only thing his panic-induced mind could come up with. Timothy prayed that they bought it.

>>>[4N631:] …

>>>[4N631:] Okay.

>>>[4N631:] I'm sorry.

Yep. Good old guilt. Timothy didn't know he was still capable of feeling that after all the morally questionable stuff he had done in Jack's name, but here it was, for a faceless stranger no less. He quickly got rid of it, it would only weigh him down. And the other had brought it upon themselves by being so nosy.

With a sigh he raised himself up from the clammy bathroom floor. It had been quiet outside for a while, so it was probably safe to leave. He pondered if he should close the chat window but eventually he just pushed it into the background. The stranger could draw whatever conclusions they wanted from his online status, but he certainly didn't want to rely on another message from them to get access again.

Tim could already sense that searching for them would become yet another draining side project.

* * *

“Aw,  _son of a_..!”

There was a fine line between the things that came to him naturally and the ones Jack had to relearn from scratch. For example, he was absolutely unable to wield a gun. The decent but not outstanding skill he once possessed didn't stem from talent but sparse field experience during their little Vault adventure. That, and his extensive theoretical knowledge combined with a knack for improvisation had done the job to hold his own on the battlefield, if necessary. Mostly though he'd had let his double stand in for him. To be honest, Timothy didn't understand why he had sneaked Jack into the firing range in the first place. Memory or not, Jack had always been a lousy shot.

But when he saw him cursing under his breath every time he missed the mark or staring with envy at Timothy's perfect shots, he knew why.

It was a blissful balm for his ego, purely selfish in its purpose. As sad as it was, he needed this, a small assurance of his own skills.

* * *

 After stumbling upon 4N631, Timothy had done his best to find any connection to it. But it was tricky to split his time between work, Jack and doing research for himself. He quickly realised it was more efficient to involve Jack in the process. Two pairs of eyes see more than one, even though he didn't tell him what exactly they were looking for. But first he had to ease him back into the fine art of handling technology...

It was another total disaster. At least at the beginning. Lawrence had the foresight of making him try to turn on the computer by himself instead of sitting him down before the real deal right away. He felt years of his life draining away as he watched Jack searching for the power button. To Tim's relief he did find it by himself, eventually. (It wasn't that hard and otherwise it would have had him worried if there was more damaged than his memory.) After that he lowered his expectations, more concretely down to nothing. Still, he let Jack figure out most of it without offering his help, although that meant they were spending an entire afternoon with the basics.

At one point they got distracted because Jack dug out some flashy video game from who knows where. He wasn't sure if he should be surprised. Just like with the ECHO unit, the double had spent the time of Jack's hospitalisation with clawing himself through the depths of the system's archives, gathering as much information as he could and needed. But even he didn't know the full extent of what lurked in there. Before he had gotten Jack's diagnosis, he didn't dare to try and hack his way into some of the more highly classified material. The circumstances had changed since then, but truth be told, Timothy was absolutely out of his depth in this department. His technical skills weren't exactly bad, but they weren't extra-ordinary either, and hoping to breach through his employer's handmade security measures would have been a futile fight.

Tim eventually brought them back on track, they had wasted way too much time with that silly game. But the temporary look of pure happiness on Jack's face, proud over the little success, was rare and had been too hard to resist. It was a breath of fresh air and certainly an improvement to the previously sour mood. Curse his weak heart.

To make up for letting them laze around, he switched over to the bigger stuff. Jack was a difficult disciple who complained when Lawrence insisted on his try-first-help-second method yet gave him dirty looks the instance he was offered a helpful nudge.

...And he was also a _goddamn natural_.

Progress started out slow, with Jack literally beginning at ground zero. But once he  _did_  get the hang of it he handled the machine more comfortably than Timothy ever had. Making him painfully aware that despite all the time he had put into slaving away over the screen, learning and honing his skills to live up to Jack's image, he was only average after all. The upside was that with Jack's support in decrypting the files, things finally moved into perspective. Plans to reform the inner structure of Hyperion, theories about the use of Eridium and its connection to Vaults... Yet not a hint about 4N631, to his disappointment. But the things he was able to do with the information he had gained...

With the detailed intel about the power dynamics inside Hyperion he could easily take over. Timothy was aware that the time frame to pull such a coup was limited. Jack's rehabilitation took too long, and quite frankly, he didn't seem particularly interested in the outside world. But Timothy was. And while he wasn't a technical genius, he knew he could perform  _this_  job to perfection.

He could be the perfect "Jack".

* * *

The doppelganger smiled as he emptied the final round into his target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's no secret to the reader that Angel joined the party. Poor girl. She's been sitting alone in her prison all this time without knowing what's going on. I'm working under the presumption that she's not all-seeing and heavily relies on the ECHOnet. Also that even though her body is wrecked at the end of Borderlands 2, it is then when she's at the height of her power as a Siren. TPS plays at a time when Jack (as I assume) didn't have the chance to enhance her powers with Eridium that much yet bc Eridium mining became only recently possible after the events of Borderlands 1. You can draw your own conclusions what that means for the Angel in this story. :3  
> (And I had to split the chapter in half AGAIN. Two of my favourite scenes are pushed into the next one... QvQ I had been working so fast so that I could get them finally out into the world only to delay them.)


	4. Stay Close

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> owo, what’s this? An update?
> 
> It’s been months, sorry for that.

Angel was watching the man who called himself Jack. There was something wrong about him. Jack had never been quite predictable, but Angel was one of the few people, if not the only one, who could see the warning signs and read between the scribbled lines of his mind. Or so she thought.

The man who returned from the Vault, however, was anything but easy to read. He looked like her father, acted like him, but something about him was completely off. Leaving her to her own devices was nothing new, Jack would sometimes let Angel work alone over the span of several weeks - once even a month when he’d been neck deep in a difficult and time-consuming project. But he would always – always! - make sure to busy her with an assignment in the meantime. He needed to foster the talent of his precious daughter, as he liked to say. The more difficult, the better. Only to hone her skills, of course, not for his profit, blah blah blah, insert speech about the greater good…

So she didn't understand what he was aiming for with his silent treatment. It didn't suit him. And it scared her, if she was honest.

She felt like she was missing out on some crucial detail.

* * *

A week passed, and there was nothing to find about 4N631. He was tempted to tell Jack what he was looking for, but ultimately it was still a precarious gamble to openly admit that he was poking around in his secret affairs. So he shut his mouth and quietly kept his eyes open for any trails.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

They hadn't tried to contact him ever since, most likely scared off thanks to his harsh dismissal, but Timothy couldn't shake the feeling that his every step was under close observation. He tried to put on his best performance outside the apartment.

A limelight in this situation was that everything else progressed nicely. If you considered collecting blackmail under the nose of higher executives as “nice”. But the doppelganger got rid of his moral standards a long time ago.

Tim was trying his best. No, really, he did.

Jack might be a prodigy in his field, but more often than not, Lawrence was the one actually working. Their roles seemed to have switched, now it was him who assigned the tasks and managed the bigger picture. Such as on this day. It was early in the morning, he had pulled another all-nighter and was desperately trying to finish a project whose deadline was approaching too fast for his taste. His eyes hurt from staring at a screen for so long and he felt his mind drifting off.

Meanwhile, Jack, who already gave his input hours ago, lounged behind him on the couch and apparently attempted to find the most obnoxious combination of sounds one could make while destroying a bag of pretzels. Eventually Tim couldn't stand it any longer. If he heard him chewing like that one more time, he would lose it.

“Could you _please_  stop doing that?”, he snapped, rubbing his temple to relieve some of the tension, “You're distracting. And I need to get this done.”

Jack didn't even have enough mercy to pause while responding.

“Sure you do”, he said between the munches, almost aggressively shoving more pretzels into his mouth, “but this is important too.”

Timothy gave up trying to concentrate on his files but didn't turn to face Jack either. No need for visuals when the audio was already killing him. He settled on staring holes into his screen instead, desperately trying to blend out the background noise.

“What exactly are you even trying to achieve? This sounds worse than a skag attempting to swallow another, bigger skag.”

“Nice description, buddy. Very graphic. Like that. What's a skag though?”, was the only comment from Jack who carried on without a care.

“Jack, I'm disgusted just from listening”, Tim gritted through his teeth. The other man just got more excited.

“See, that's the point.” He started to wildly gesticulate, waving the offending snack through the air. Timothy pressed his lips tightly together as he caught the sight of crumbles flying around. Jack didn't notice. “They ARE disgusting.”

“Then _why_ do you keep eating them?”, he asked with growing impatience. “Do you think they get better with time or what?”

Jack had the nerve to beam at him. “Nope. Actually that shit is getting nastier with every bite.”

“Oh my g-... Why don't you just stop doing that then, asshole?”, he hissed, finally fully facing him. But he regretted it immediately. The smile it earned him, full of false innocence, promised nothing good. With horror he had to watch as Jack casually put a single pretzel into his mouth, holding eye contact the whole time, and savoured it with great emphasis. It squelched, and yet there was also the unmistakable sound of _crunching_. He shuddered. No doubt the man dragged it out on purpose. When he finally swallowed Lawrence let out a breath of pure relief. Jack snickered and pointed a finger at his face.

“See, that's it! Entertainment at it finest. Absolutely _delicious_.”

Timothy only gave him a bland stare before he threw himself back in his chair, overwhelmed by the sheer madness of this situation. He helplessly screamed into his hands, all the while Jack kept laughing, undoubtedly enjoying himself. When he ran out of breath, Tim stood up and began packing his things, ignoring the other in favour of spitting out a steady stream of curses. He kept going at it until he walked out of the door, wishing it was possible to slam it in the asshole’s face. Maybe rip it out of its hinges and throw it at him, if he didn’t have arm muscles akin to a noodle. Well, maybe not that bad, still, his form had mildly suffered from playing desk jockey for so long… Tim made a mental note to up his training program. Conquering the Hyperion corporate empire didn’t leave much time for the gym, but he had to let off steam somewhere, right?

For now he resigned to stomp with heavy feet all the way to his office, glaring at the occasional bypasser when they gave him curious looks.

* * *

Jack was a good listener. He was, despite the insistence of his pretty double that he was not. It wasn't his fault the man didn't explain everything properly. He definitely did not zone out that one time he was showing him how to use the oven thank you very much. There could have been a thousand other reasons why that pie had ended up frozen. Kitchen equipment can be difficult like that.

So his fantastic listening skills were absolutely not the cause of his current dilemma. Since he was a great and attentive listener, it was impossible for him to get lost. Especially not in the space station he knew like the back of his hand, thanks to a practical downscaled 3d model programmed into his digi-watch that Not-Jack had gifted it to him as part of his “re-education” program. It wasn't a map showing him his position, only the most basic outlay downloaded from the ECHOnet - which was just plain stupid in Jack’s eyes. He planned to add that function himself soon, it couldn’t be that hard.

Not that it should have mattered. He was forbidden to leave their apartment without the double’s permission, until he was "ready". Well, it wasn’t like that would have stopped him if he wanted to get out, even with a locked door. Those were awfully easy to hack, he had spent half an hour of an especially boring afternoon with flipping the digital locking mechanism on and off for fun. Nah, it wasn’t that what kept him inside. Jack normally had no interest in leaving. He was content where he was. There was food. There was more than enough of his past self’s stuff to keep his intellect sharp and functioning. And there was the Other Jack, who was an endless source of amusement. Jack, the real one, smirked. The man was way too easy to torment… At least when he was at home. And not storming out of their shared apartment.

Which was why how he ended up here: Passing the same damn corner of Helios for the fifth time while trying to find his way to the stupid hideout that his doppelganger called an office.

He cursed under his breath.

Why did it all have to look the same? Did the interior designer have no creativity at all? Whoever was responsible for this deserved a one-way trip into space. He felt like he was going through the same hallway over and over again. That stupid ad, promoting the revised Loader Bot series _("now with a 30% lower chance to get stuck in door frames!")_ , seemed to be plastered on each wall he passed by, although he was pretty sure that it was already outdated. It's been everywhere ever since Jack 2.0 brought him on the station, he had made a side remark that they would be released soon…

His feet came to an abrupt stop.

He squinted at the flimmering advertisement, eyes glued to a corner of the screen. There was a slight crack, probably from some clumsy idiot crashing into it. It wasn’t very prominent, but it was enough to catch your eye if you were looking for it.

Jack's pulse quickened. He recognised this spot, and he knew this whole damn hallway. He'd been here the day he arrived. An anxious feeling was creeping down his spine and he turned away.

Teeth clenched, he kept his gaze trained ahead. The knot in his stomach tightened when he neared the next corner. He prayed that he was wrong.

Another screen.

The same ad.

And the same stupid crack in the same stupid spot on the same stupid frame. He hadn’t been walking in circles. He was stuck in a loop.

Fear, ice cold fear was washing over him now, couldn’t be contained any longer when his suspicions were confirmed.

“No, no, no... Not again”, he whispered, clawing at his neck, frantically running his nails over his skin.

Jack knew it was only a matter of time now that he was self-aware. He ruined his own **dream** because his restless brain couldn't help but pick up its flawed reflection of reality. He was just too perceptive for his own good, he thought wistfully. Why must the smart always suffer…?

He took a deep breath and started running. There was no big announcement or warning when it begun, but he always felt the shift in the air. It got warm. Jack never remembered if he could feel temperature in this imaginary world before the inevitable realisation came that he was dreaming, but once he noticed it was rising. Not even here he could escape the heat, it would always seep through, following him into sleep like a curse.

Behind him he heard a thump, and another, and then it took on a rhythm that was by now so familiar to him like the beat of his own heart. The air was hot, each breath was burning his insides. Not much longer and it would feel like drowning and inhaling lungfuls of boiling water.

The pounding increased in volume, soon it would reach him. But he didn’t want to be caught, didn’t want to know what would happen. He strained his legs to pick up the pace and screamed.

* * *

He woke up on the floor, limps tangled in his sheets with one foot up and still hanging in an awkward angle on the mattress. Jack stared at the ceiling until his heart stopped threatening to spring out of his chest. Slowly he slumped downwards into a more comfortable position while his breath evened out. He swallowed. His throat felt hoarse. _Fuck._

Suddenly up on his feet, he listened for any signs that he alarmed his housemate with his noise. But there were no shuffling steps or concerned voice coming from outside his room, so Jack must have dodged that bullet yet again. 

He let himself fall on his bed. Then he flipped over on his stomach and checked the time.

“Two hours…”, Jack screwed his eyes shut and buried his face into the pillow. This was getting out of hand. The intervals in which he woke up got shorter, yet his dreams were simulating longer periods: this time he had lived almost through an entire morning, wandering to places he had never been to before. Well, at least not his current self. He wrecked his brain to remember what of it had been real and when he had slipped into dreamland.

Messing with with his double… yeah, no, that definitely happened. The aftertaste of these awful pretzels still lingered on his tongue, paired with a sour side note. Right, he’d taken a trip to the toilet bowl after the other left in a fit, plus trying and failing to free his palate from the flavour with water and toothpaste. Then his memory got hazy. Jack’s best guess was he decided to take a nap. Or rather to contemplate his life choices while flopping down face-first into the mattress, followed by passing out from exhaustion. These dreams were no rarity, he lost count how many times they already costed him sleep and his body was sorely missing the rest. He was aching all over, gradually feeling more and more like an old man.

Jack released a sigh into the soft fabric and frowned when the warm breath surrounded his face, trapped between him and the material. He was tired and wanted nothing more than to slip back into unconsciousness… but the bed was sweaty and heated. It made him fidgety. Although the nervous tremble running through his limbs might come as well from sleep deprivation, who knew. What he did know was that he wouldn’t fall asleep again, he’d been through all this already.

So he willed himself to get up again and sluggishly dragged his body into the bathroom. It was a cute little routine by now: _Wake up, feel like shit, splash some water on your face, pretend you’re fine until you convince yourself._

He didn’t quite get the hang of the last point yet, but at least he looked the part on the outside.

Wiping away the lingering wetness while avoiding the sensitive areas was quite the act, and despite the feather light contact it hurt to dry his skin. Jack left it at that and stared into the mirror. His reflection glared back. It looked even worse than he felt, with dark circles forming under the eyes and barely healed wounds adding a gruesome touch. The mangled mess had once been covered beneath bandages, but he got rid of them as soon as he could without risking an infection. Which "coincidentally" had been the day after he stepped into this apartment. His double hadn’t been able to look at him without wincing until much later.

He scowled. His mug wasn’t a pretty sight but Jack couldn’t care less - he was stuck with it forever. No need to cry over things you can’t change. There were however a few other details that could be corrected…

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t pay any mind to the front door opening in the distance.

* * *

Timothy was baffled by the scene he came across. It shouldn’t be a surprise, not after the past few weeks. But despite his amnesia, the man was still Jack at his core: Jack with his big mouth, always bossing him around, body moving with the same swag that seemed to come naturally. And somehow the double had assumed it would extent to his coiffure - which might have been a bit silly, in retrospective.

The floppy, unstyled hair should have been a telltale sign that this wasn't the case. But seriously, how was he supposed to know it was unusual? Lawrence had never seen the man in the comfort of his own home before the whole ordeal had forced them together. Oh, sure, on a surface level he knew who his employer was, in a roundabout way… But it was thanks to Jack’s arrogance that they never had a single civil conversation, neither before nor after his surgery, up until Tim was summoned to hunt a Vault for him. And during their little adventure they didn’t have a chance to relax, not once, not like here. Nothing he had seen back then could compare to the experience of witnessing a half-naked Jack stumbling out of his room to raid the fridge at midnight. After busting him with remains of stolen ice cream still smudged on his cheek, Tim hadn't bat an eye at a bit of mussed up hair. But now he came to realise the messily arranged curls might not just be a casual look, but rather the result of insecure fingers.

Jack’s hand was curled around a jar of hair wax, absentmindedly playing with it. His focus was entirely on himself, gaze drilling into the mirror - just like in old times he blended out his surroundings when he deemed them unimportant. Brows were knitted tightly together, as if he couldn’t figure out what to do. This was the same man who had been throwing together the basis for a decently coded program in minutes. To see him at a loss over doing his own hair was… sad.

“Jack?” The other did not answer. Lawrence stepped closer but Jack still refused or failed to acknowledge him. “Do you need help, or...?”

Tim reached out to take the small container. It was supposed to be a kind gesture. But as soon as he brushed his hand, Jack spun around and slammed him against the sink. Glass was cracking behind him. The back of his head hurt, emitting a dull throb.

Suddenly it all came back in a rush. He was painfully aware who the man in front of him was, even though these last peaceful weeks had succeeded to gloss over the truth. This was the man who passionately conjured the death of everyone on Pandora, who laughed with joy at thoughts of pain and destruction. The man he thought they had left behind in the Vault, next to the corpse of the Sentinel.

And now he had his hand around his neck, making Tim’s worst nightmares come true.


	5. A touchy subject - Part 1

Fingers pressed into his throat and all of Timothy’s instincts screamed to pry them off. Common sense told him that he needed to stop this, to stop _him._ But the shock settled deep in Lawrence’s bones and made them feel heavier than stone. While it locked him firmly in place, the iron grip around his neck kept tightening and he was unable to do anything other than gaping like a fish out of water. He hated it, despised being so vulnerable, so exposed and yet he could not act. The time on Elpis, all his training on Helios… none of it mattered. It had suddenly all become useless. In this moment he was not Jack the Doppelganger. The Vault Hunter he worked so hard to become was thrown back in the recess of his mind and replaced by Timothy Lawrence, the cowardly, debt-ridden good-for-nothing nobody. Vaguely he registered the sick sense of familiarity this whole scenario carried: a warm body against his front and the cold edge of a sink digging into his back.

They had both been here before but this time round they were no longer drunk college students, Jack was not a stranger and his hands were wrapped around the wrong body part.

Tim blinked and willed the resurfacing pictures away. This particular can of worms was something he carefully avoided since the beginning of his employment and now was the worst possible moment for it to come up again. The Jack of the past had never allowed him to live it down. And Timothy was very unwilling to go through the same hellish experience all over again with _this_ Jack.

Suddenly a rush of air filled his lungs. The fresh oxygen brought him back to the real world and out of his head, leaving him dizzy for a moment. It took him a while to realise that he was not dying: Jack's hold on him had loosened but the pressure on his neck was still there. Tim moved his gaze from the tiled wall which he had been staring at for the last few minutes and flinched.

It was not what he had expected.

Jack’s eyes were trained right at him, and yet they were far, far away. Tim was used to seeing it in the eye blinded by the Vault relic. It had been a milky void ever since the incident, but right now its blue counterpart was just as empty and lifeless. The pupil was dilated and unfocused. Jack looked almost high and an annoyingly persistent part of Timothy’s mind was already summoning the smell from the night he could only remember it in scraps and pieces. He hastily crushed that thought, it was not the right time.

Neither of them moved and slowly the rushing in his head subsided. The grip on his neck was no longer hard enough to choke him like before - if anything, its purpose seemed to be to pin him in place. A sort of calm spread inside Tim's body and now that he had a clearer mind he could get a read on the situation.

The first thing he noticed was that they were still pressed against each other. Any plans to keep a cool head were immediately down the drain and a deep blush was burning his cheeks. Tentatively Tim peeked at Jack’s face again only to find that the man’s attention was now directed at his own hand.

Lawrence hesitated.

The outcome was unpredictable and maybe this was the stupidest decision he ever made. Possibly even his last. But Timothy’s curiosity was piqued and when Jack's hand started to squeeze again, he made no attempt to intervene or free himself.

Although, was it _really_ squeezing?

The fingers weren't cutting off his air this time. Instead they were digging into his flesh, kneading it, like Jack was testing it for its feel. Then his movements changed again and Tim frowned.

It wasn't possible.

It _shouldn't_ be possible.

Was he... _caressing_ his skin? Jack was never gentle, this made no sense. But whatever he was doing, it felt almost... _affectionate_.

It was tender, just the light touch of two fingers running up and down his throat, leaving little tingles in their wake. Soon they got bolder, rubbing alongside Tim’s jaw, all while Jack was watching their exploration of Lawrence’s body, eyes shining bright with a disturbing intensity.

This was getting pretty uncomfortable... well, _more_ uncomfortable than before. Thanks to the proximity it was inevitable to keep their breath from mingling. They inhaled and exhaled in synch, the used air ghosting over each other's faces: a fleeting hint of warmth in the chilly bathroom. The intimacy of it gave Tim whiplash. Mere minutes ago he had feared for his life and now there was a whole different kind of concern hanging over him. The worst part was that Jack didn't even seem to be aware of his actions or how they affected Timothy. If Jack knew about the shameful boner pressing up against him, he certainly didn't let it bother him. He didn't look at the double anymore, eyelids nearly shut while the fingers were gently and almost timidly gliding over Tim’s skin. A simple motion and yet it put Lawrence on edge. The growing tension between them was killing him and finally he couldn't bear it anymore.

Lawrence didn't exactly have a plan, he just knew he couldn't hold still anymore without either exploding or fainting on the spot. But as soon as Timothy began to squirm, Jack snapped out of whatever state of trance he had been in. There were five seconds in which he ripped his eyes wide open and finally registered what was happening. Five seconds in which they stared at each other, neither daring to move, to breathe, to _think_.

And then it was over. Jack hastily retracted his arm and was gone in a blink of an eye. In the distance a door was slammed shut, followed by the quieter click of a lock. Timothy stayed where he was, leaning against the broken mirror, confused and left behind with the feeling that this was some kind of screwed up déjà vu.

A tiny, meekly voice in the back of his head suggested to go after the other man, to see what this was all about.

Tim asked himself if confronting Jack while still sporting a raging hard on would be worth it.

It was not.

Now alone, the long forgotten container of hair wax he had been clutching all this time slipped through his fingers. It fell down with a cluttering sound that echoed in the empty room. A heavy sigh escaped his mouth and Tim pushed himself off the sink. After a few trembling steps, however, he could not fight the overwhelming urge to sink to the floor any longer. The cold tiles welcomed him like an old friend and he grimaced at the tightness in his pants, reluctantly spreading his legs to accommodate.

“What the hell was that?” Tim mumbled. He rubbed his face to ease the tension in the muscles and managed to school it into a state of exhausted relaxation, unlike _other_ parts of his body that did not want to follow and Tim refused to give them the same treatment. He was not attracted to the asshole who just tried to strangle him to death.

 _Get a grip on yourself, Lawrence_.

The issue, unfortunately, didn’t seem to solve itself by just glaring at it. A cold shower surely would get rid of it quickly - if he could will his ass up.

Fat chance of that happening anytime soon.

And so he resigned himself to sit it out while impatiently drumming his fingers on the floor. It was so very pathetic but he knew he had to blame his lack of sexual contact for that. It had been… _a while_. There was no way he would get aroused by this jackass otherwise under the current circumstances. Not again, at least. He had sworn that to himself.

His thoughts were wandering though, nagging him with unwanted memories about the first time this had happened. When he was younger and much more innocent, the blood of many not staining his hands yet. The only thing that kept him awake at night back then were his grades and the ever growing amount of debt.

* * *

As a young and starry eyed freshman he used to admire the man for his talent.

Even among Timothy's peers the name “John” was a synonym for mad programming skills: the senior had gained fame far beyond his age group. Not even a year later after joining college he got to have a more intimate experience with this campus legend, more than was good for him. John left a memorable impression that, in Tim's book, had him forever penned down as “the biggest jerk in the universe”.

It was just another night at college: kids were swallowing too many questionable substances, some legal and some less, getting handsy and making stupid mistakes. Timothy knew he was playing a risky game, knew he would regret all this in the morning but in this moment he was just too high to care. One of his so - called ‘friends’ had dragged him to a party. They were the people who reluctantly tolerated him in their social circle as long as he shared his study notes with them and Tim accepted whatever company he could get. After a beer and a half over his limit he was stupid enough to let himself be peer pressured into taking a lungful of who knows what and that just there was the beginning of his downfall.

Mumbling a quiet apology unlikely to be heard by anybody over the blaring music, he excused himself. Standing up on his feet was already a challenge and finding his way out of the room seemed an impossible mission. His vision was hazy and swimming away: everything was moving too fast and while he was making his way through the masses he stumbled from one person into another, each a big warm boulder between him and freedom. Nobody cared and kept on swaying to the beat, caught in their own high. Timothy’s luck quickly ran out however when he reached the hallway and collided with yet another student who grabbed his shoulder with a violent jerk and immediately crowded into his space. Not keen on a fist fight, he prepared to back up but Tim could barely bring out a halfhearted “sorry” before two strong arms wrapped around his body.

“Babe, where have _you_ been hidin’?” someone drawled drunkenly and the next moment a greedy mouth crashed against his.

Timothy Lawrence, 19 years old and a fully certified virgin in all regards, melted into his very first kiss. He would not remember later if it was actually that good, but to his drug-enhanced mind it felt like someone ripped his soul out and brought him straight to heaven.

Tim’s eyes opened again when his back hit a wall, catching a glimpse of a handsome face and a familiar grin moment before the man manhandled him further into a secluded bathroom, all while sucking on Tim’s neck with the desperation of a starving vampire. As the lock clicked into place, the man took a break from his  - not at all unwelcome - assault and Timothy could finally take a good look at who he was making out with.

By all means, Tim was _wasted_. He should not have been able to recognize anyone, let alone someone he knew only from afar. His eyes flickered over the ruffled brown hair, grabbed and tousled up by too many hands and too many people, over the striking jaw and sharp cheekbones. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it until he gazed into the pair of heterochromic eyes.

Eyes that were suddenly too close, and wow, how did John manage to sneak up on him just now?

A click of tongue caught his attention and the other student grinned at him cheekily.

“Sssssay, what was your name, sweetheart?” John lazily toyed with the collar of Timothy’s shirt. “Janice? Janet?” He gave a stupid laugh. “Heh, Janet the planet. Nah, that's not you. You lack the, uh-...” He vaguely gestured and patted his chest, frowning at the very prominent lack of, well, _everything_. Tim didn't understand a single word he said but smiled politely in hopes he would shut up and get back to kissing.

“My name is T-”

“Shhhhhhhhh, kitten I -, I got this.”

John squinted at him, brows pinched in inebriated concentration. His face gave the impression he was about to take his final exam instead of figuring out the name of his hopefully soon to be one-night stand. Finally his face lit up in recognition and he gave a triumphant tap against Tim’s shoulder.

“Tara, is it? Right? I’m totally right. ‘Cause, I’m that awesome.”

“No. It’s- uh- Timo-”

“Tatiana, gotcha babe. Come ’ere.”

Long fingers snagged him by the chin, guiding Timothy’s lips the right way but Tim had enough.

“It’s Tim”, he stated firmly, maybe a tad too loud for the minimal distance between them since John winced slightly. The man stared at him and Lawrence wondered if he had ruined the mood and finally pissed him off, this senior student who could probably easily beat him into a pulp with those arms that were a lot more defined than his own. And boy did they look good, not _that_ impressive, but he wouldn’t mind feeling them up and -...

“Yeah, fine, Tim… -antha.” John licked his lips. “Exotic… Are ya from Aquator or somethin’?”

Before Tim’s drunken, horny mind could come up with a rebuttal, he got surprised by their mouths slotting back together, a tongue insistently flicking against his lips and demanding entrance. Permission was given all too eagerly, and he moaned lewdly into the kiss.

To his disappointment they parted again all too soon. Timothy tried to chase after John with a needy whine that turned into keening when the other nipped on his neck, this time with more finesse, and steered Tim’s body towards a wall. He followed without resistance, let himself be pressed against a sink and got kissed until he couldn't tell up from down. John wasn't satisfied until all exposed skin got covered in hickeys and Tim's lips felt numb, raw and absolutely used. Never, not even in his wildest dreams he would have pegged the self-centered douche he’d heard both the best and the worst things about to be this thorough, yet Timothy was left as a shaking mess once the relentless pair of lips - surprisingly skilled for the state of intoxication their owner was in - was done with him.

With an almost feverish urgency they explored each other’s bodies, their hands testing, tugging at fabric and sneaking underneath to grab at soft warm flesh. Tim tried to stay quiet when gentle fingertips began to caress his chest, only to yelp at nails unexpectedly and viciously raking down his sides, accompanied by a mischievous snicker from John. A shudder ran through his body and his brain was struggling to comprehend why the burn was sending sparks down his spine, torn between pain and pleasure. His own hands tightened their grip on John’s hips, something the other man took as encouragement to wander even lower.

There was a short struggle with the zipper that tested Timothy’s already paper thin patience. Shame was the last thing on his mind, too desperate to care, while he was begging John to hurry up and pawing at his ass in a miserable attempt to grind against John’s front - which made it even more difficult to get access to his pants.

Eventually the college star managed to pull down the troublesome zipper. Not even bothering to free his target, he slid right under the waistband of Tim's boxers to palm over his dick. Nobody but himself ever laid hand on it before and the touch of someone else made Timothy harder than ever. John's hands were big and a comforting weight wrapped all around him.

The sensation was overwhelming, even more so because of the drugs still meddling with his brain. The world ceased to exist. Only the feeling of hot breath tickling his skin made Tim notice that John was nuzzling his neck again, sending shivers down his spine. At some point during the night he must have lost his scrunchy: locks of ginger hair were falling into his face, no longer neatly tied together. It explained a lot to be honest, but apparently John didn't seem to care that the contents of the package were different from what he generally remembered. The fingers inside Tim's pants fondled him playfully, and Lawrence had a hard time to control his breathing. John’s other hand had found its way back up and into his hair, taking advantage of it to tug and making Tim bare his throat. The glee coming from the other man was almost palpable while he was nosing along the pale flesh.

“Mmmh… You smell _nice,_ honey. ”

John's tongue ran over Lawrence’s skin, he was barely beginning to work up Tim's cock when his teeth grazed his neck and then suddenly all of it became too much. Timothy’s orgasm came quietly, with his eyes shut tight and mouth hanging open, drawing shallow breaths. A wet spot formed at the front, staining his underwear and John’s hand froze in his movements but Tim didn't notice any of this since his mind was slowly slipping into blissed out nothingness.

* * *

Timothy stared at his crotch with distaste.

He shouldn’t have let himself get swept away by this memory, it always lured him in with the reminder of how good and how desired his stupid younger self had felt back then. It was the first time anybody had graced him with some attention. But by now he knew better. His eyes had been opened to reality the very next morning when he woke up alone and stained with dried cum, some smears even on the outside of his clothes. It left him questioning if the asshole had wiped his hand off on him or worse, wiped _himself_ off.

The cherry on top of the shitty cake was that till the very end Jack would always deny it was him that night.

Jack had laughed at Tim when the timid blushing student approached him on the campus afterwards.

When Tim started to work for the man not much changed about that. By the time their paths crossed again Jack had almost forgotten about the existence of the poor, nameless boy he humiliated in front of a gossiping mob. Maybe if Lawrence had squirmed a bit less, maybe if he hadn’t let out a snippy remark his boss would have never noticed anything. Then he would have never looked into the files that had been erased everywhere else in the world, the last remaining copy safely tucked away on Jack’s private server, and discovered their mutual past.

But it had happened.

This time, however, instead of scorn and heinous laughter he had received dirty leers from Jack. Still rejecting the tiniest chance that Tim’s version of the night was more than a drug-induced wet dream, he was now offering ‘to make it real’. A new and more attractive face that heavily appealed to Jack’s ego seemed to work wonders for a man’s extremely fragile masculinity.

It nauseated Lawrence to even think about it.

And yet… _and yet…_

Yet his traitorous hand had sneaked downwards while Timothy was reminiscing. He glared at it and the way his fingers dug needily into the erection. It was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. Even now, while anger and disgust were soiling his memories, he couldn’t shake off his arousal.

Lust for a man that didn’t even exist anymore.

With gritted teeth Lawrence awkwardly forced himself on his feet.

It was high time for a cold shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to eternal_garbage for driving this forward with her enthusiasm and especially for being an awesome beta this chapter.
> 
> Please remember to comment if you liked this chapter. :P


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